


Hoarding Forever

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [10]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blood, I'm pretty sure this counts as graphic violence, Kayfabe Compliant, Other, Swearing, Thievery, also regular angst, bad dark things ahead, descriptions of semi gross things, do not feed dogs people food, mostly good natured friendly ribbing, no really, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, stealth angst, terrible first aid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."</p>
<p>~Friedrich Nietzsche</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoarding Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> First off, Sami does not actually _appear in_ this fic nor does he even get mentioned. Well, he sort of does because neither seem capable of going so much as ten minutes without mentioning each other in some capacity.
> 
> Glad that's totally not the case now, right guys? *cougheveryfuckingepisodeofrawandIwillnevergettiredofthatcough*
> 
> Anyway, there is a lot of shit going on in this fic and I'm not quite sure I got it all across as well as I wanted to. Kevin is a goddamn mess -as if you guys didn't know- and I am not really confident in my ability to convey just how out of it he gets sometimes. I'm attempting it, but it is a delicate balance between overt, loud fucked-upness and slightly unhinged psychological damage.
> 
> This is basically Kevin's Issues, The Fic. Seriously, his issues have issues, whose issues have started a life together and are having little baby issues. Brace yourselves, terrible-ness is happening. If you think that 'obligatory Kevin Steen warning' tag is a joke, it is not. At all. Read with caution. And maybe adult supervision.
> 
> ...enjoy?
> 
> Edit: Also, early upload 'cause I have shit to do all weekend. However, the internet problem should be taken care of for a while.

The crowd **roars** as his back slams into the mat with more force than he had been expecting. Struggling to catch his breath, Kevin rolls, hoping to avoid any well timed finishers and get back to his feet.

Using the turnbuckle to slide back to an approximation of a standing position, Kevin tries think clearly through the fog of **war** clouding his mind _._ Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye he lashes out, more on instinct than anything else, catching his would be assailant in the nose with an elbow.

Kevin’s opponent doubles over with a grunt. Taking advantage, Kevin slaps the other wrestler down to the mat hard, his whole body vibrating with the impact. Circling the fallen man like a vulture circles their prey, he _waits_ for the wrestler to stagger to their feet, ready to-

- _oh_ -

Pierre is glaring heatedly at Kevin, holding his nose gingerly, _blood_ escaping around his fingers and trailing down his wrist. Thin red veins of crimson spider slowly across his chin and down his arm.

Pierre backs away from Kevin, hands clamped firmly over his face, though it doesn’t seem to be stemming the flow of **blood** any. The ref barks something at Kevin before scuttling over to Pierre, pulling his hands away from his face to get a look at the **damage** , pulling out latex gloves and cotton balls as he goes.

Kevin watches in **fascination** as the _blood_ makes its way across Pierre’s skin. Some of it drips its way down to the mat, **staining** the surface crimson. The tang of copper fills the air as Kevin sways on the spot, watching Pierre’s predicament intently, waiting to be told that he can continue to-

- _take_ -

-waiting to be told that they can _finish the match_.

Pierre looks up, eyes locking with Kevin’s briefly, fiery anger meeting insatiable  ** _need_** for a moment before the ref steps between them, raising a gloved hand to Pierre’s face. The ref says something that has Pierre turning his glare to the tiny striped shirt wearing man. As he does so, Pierre runs an agitated hand through his hair, leaving behind streaks of **red**.

Kevin is **tempted,** for the first time, to close is eyes. Or at least look _away_.

(it’s too much-)

- _not **enough**_ -

**Red** fills Kevin‘s vision and he raises a hand, swiping at his forehead in irritation. His hand comes away clean of everything but sweat, but the **red haze** remains and his sluggish thoughts-

- _not **enough**_ -

-make it hard for Kevin to _process_ **anything** other than-

- _take take **take**_ -

The ref is still fussing with Pierre, wiping futilely at the **_blood_** pouring down the wrestler’s face. Kevin watches intently as Pierre slowly grows paler, his eyes starting to go slightly glassy as the ref fumbles with a wad of cotton.

Pierre looks up, glancing back over his shoulder to his corner, shooting Excalibur a weak smile and a thumbs up, though Kevin can see how his hand trembles.

- _ **weak**. not enough. **need**_ -

Kevin rolls his neck, _panting_ harder than he should be after standing still for...

(how _long_ had they been standing here waiting for the ref to stop being a bitch? how had Pierre let his nose get **broken** from a simple elbow? why couldn’t they just _**finish the damn match?**_ )

(why couldn’t Kevin **think** properly?)

Pierre lists sideways slightly, leaning most of his weight on the ropes and the ref says something that has Pierre shaking his head angrily, snapping something back before turning slightly green and griping the ropes with all his might, looking like the world around him is tilting.

The ref puts an arm on Pierre’s shoulder, saying something else that Kevin can’t quite hear-

- _fuck **no**. **make** them **stop**_ -

-and pulling Pierre back toward his corner and **away** from Kevin, who has been waiting so fucking _patiently_ for them to just-

- _ **drag** him back_-

Kevin lurches forward, ignoring the shout of alarm from behind him, tunnel vision focused on Pierre. Pierre looks up from the ref, glancing over his shoulder then up at Kevin, eyes widening in alarm.

Pierre shoves the ref aside, meeting Kevin halfway and they slam into each other, locking up. They tussle briefly, but though Pierre’s _will_ is **strong** , the blood loss is making him sloppy. He is clearly still dizzy and somewhat disoriented, enough that Kevin is able to slip out of Pierre’s shaky grip after only a brief struggle before getting Pierre into a headlock, ignoring the ref’s angry reprimands.

(the fucker **should** **have** called for the bell earlier)

(the damn match isn’t over until Kevin **says** it’s over)

- _ **never** over_ -

The crowd shrieks as Pierre’s struggling gets  **weaker** , Kevin watching the other wrestler slowly lose consciousness, ignoring the shouting from both his corner and Pierre’s.

All Kevin can hear is the **roar** of the crowd and the growing **absence** of Pierre’s **breaths**.

(just a _bit_ more and it'll be enough)

- _ **never** enough_ -(No.)

(just **_need_** a little-)

- _ **no**. **not** a little. a **lot**. **all** of it. **all of everything**_ -

Someone makes a low sound like a **wounded animal** and it takes Kevin a few seconds to realize that it had come from his _own throat_. He closes his eyes, tries to pull some **semblance** of **rationality** back together.

Kevin feels something _drip_ onto his forearm and looks down to the places he and Pierre intersect. Looks down at Pierre’s pale face, cheeks tinged blue-ish green, as if his body is torn between _puking_ or _passing out_.

Looks down at his own forearm, pale flesh covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Beads of it trail over Kevin’s skin, tinged a slight pink color.

Kevin feels the pull of - ** _need-_**  like a living breathing thing is tugging him to just look. So he does, eyes finding Pierre’s, the **blood** -now slowed but still fresh- trailing down Pierre’s face and sluggishly dripping down onto Kevin’s body.

Kevin stares at the _**blood**_ sliding down Pierre’s chin and across Kevin’s forearm for a lifetime, insides twisting in **painful** _satisfaction_. The crimson strands **stain** Kevin’s skin, gliding across his flesh, rich red streams like **bloody absolution** and _victory_. _Fiery triumph_ and **destructive penance**.

_Ruthless destruction_.

**Remorseless absolution**.

Kevin pulls in a **sharp breath** , the coppery tang of **_blood_** on his _lips_ and in his _nose_ and _everywhere_ -

“Kevin, come **on**."

(fuck)

- _take_ -

(wait.)

“Kevin tag me in for fucks _sake_ , you homicidal lunatic!"

(just shut up for **agoddamnminute** )

- _fuck him, **take**_ -

( **STOP** )

Kevin snaps his head and inhales sharply, before tossing an irritated glare over his shoulder and shifting his stance, torn for a brief moment. The crowd _howls_ abruptly, the sudden noise making Kevin tense up. The howl reaches a **crescendo** and before Kevin can react Pierre is _moving_ -

(the crafty bastard was **faking** )

- _well played_ -

-swiftly hooking a foot behind Kevin’s ankle. Kevin lets Pierre out of the headlock and scrambles away, unwilling to get down on the mat with Pierre right now.

- _he is **weak**_ -

Kevin shakes his head and shuffles backwards, never taking his eyes off Pierre. Pierre gazes steadily back at him, the blood drying on his face making him look **crazed** , though his eyes are _sharp_ and _clear_.

“ **Kevin!** "

Letting out a low, irate growl, Kevin spins around. Moving quicker and steadier than he feels, Kevin slams a palm into Super Dragon's chest, the shock of the blow sending sparks up his arm.

Which seems to have gone as **numb** as the rest of him.

Although that _doesn’t make any sense,_ considering Kevin’s whole body is alight with an insistent buzz of adrenaline.

Dragon leaps over the ropes without hesitation, leaving Kevin to slip out onto the apron like a scolded child, still breathing shallowly and more **disoriented** than he should be.

- ** _goddamnit_** -

Kevin pulls in a deep breath and focuses on the **match**.

Excalibur meets Dragon in the middle of the ring and they lock up, their movements _fluid_ and _easy_ and Kevin feels a twinge of miserable jealousy worm its way through his chest, constricting him in **painful longing** for a moment.

- _idiot_ -

Kevin looks **away** from the wrestlers in the ring.

The wrestlers who **move together** like they are **one**.

The wrestlers who seem to _**need**_ nothing more than _each other_ to-

Kevin grips the top rope in his fist. Waiting, hoping in vain that it will _ground_ him somewhat.

Kevin is not surprised when he feels nothing but a _**needy**_ _ache_ for-

(NO)

Kevin grips the rope impossibly tighter, watching the skin of his hand go sheet white and bloodless as he squeezes.

- _need_ -

(no.)

Blinking furiously, Kevin straightens his back. Tugging down the hem of his t-shirt, Kevin deliberately releases the ropes and leans away, swaying dangerously on the apron.

“Come on Dragon! Sucker punch the bastard! We haven't got all night!"

* * *

The dog makes little snuffling noises as it eats, making Kevin roll his eyes. He reaches down and gives the mutt a pat on the head that the pup seems to appreciate. It stops wolfing down the food for a moment to stare up at Kevin. It looks at him, its eyes big and watery and an irritating shade of brown that makes Kevin’s chest hurt. The dog woofs softly, big tongue lapping at his palm, leaving a trail of slobber and little scraps of sliced chicken on Kevin’s arm.

Grimacing, Kevin pats the dog lightly again before pulling his arm back, rubbing his slobbery skin against his jeans. The dog watches him a moment more with its big, friendly eyes before returning to its food. Kevin glances around, squinting into the dark streets around him and then standing, giving the mutt one last nudge with his foot.

“Later pup. Enjoy that and better hope you don’t have to share.”

Kevin ignores the plaintive whine as he turns, walking into the shadows, pretending he doesn’t hear the soft bark.

Clutching the thin plastic bag in his fist, Kevin stalks along the curb, drawing his hands up into his sleeves against the cold, his gloves feeling four layers too thin for the icy night air. Sniffing hard, he turns down a side road, hopping back up on the sidewalk when he hears a car behind him.

The car doesn’t drive past however, it follows along parallel to him and Kevin slows his pace. Turning his head as the driver rolls down the window Kevin raises and eyebrow at his luck.

“Hey Franky.” Kevin says lowly, giving the other man a nod in greeting, wondering briefly if he should stop and make this conversation easier on both of them. Dismissing the idea, Kevin picks up the pace again, watching the car speed up with him out of the corner of his eye, enjoying the put upon sigh it elicits from the bigger man.

“Kevin.” Franky returns and Kevin notices the slightly cold edge to the greeting. “You scrambled outta there pretty fast, I thought we wouldn’t see you until next week.”

Kevin raised the bag still clutched in his hand.

“I went to grab Pierre some ice and beer.” Kevin stated, eyes leaving the sidewalk in front of him to lock with Franky’s briefly, an unspoken acknowledgment and an ignored thank you passing between them before Kevin focuses on the road in front of him again. Dropping the bag back to his side he walks in silence for a few heartbeats, watching the night twist around them and listening to the hum of the car engine.

“That was kind of you Kevin. I appreciate it. I’m sure Pierre will as well.” Franky said, voice gruff with reluctant gratitude, something gentle and far too understanding in his eyes.

“I didn’t do it for you.” Kevin snaps, then grinds his teeth, viciously shoving the rest of that sentence down along with the urge to pound his fist into the frigid metal of Franky’s car.

(fuck)

Franky outright laughs, all previous irritation gone now, replaced with an all-knowing amusement that makes Kevin’s blood boil.

“I know, Kevin.” Frank says wryly, grinning sideways at Kevin as though they are in on some private joke. “You want a lift back?”

Kevin sniffs disdainfully “You’re not even headed the right way.”

Franky eyes him, head cocked to the side, “Neither are you Kevin.”

Kevin rolls his eyes skyward, drawing in a sharp breath, “I took a detour.” he says, just as they approach an intersection. To prove his point he turns right this time, instead of going straight like he had the last time he’d come to this exact intersection, not ten minutes ago.

Rolling his neck, Kevin casts a sideways glance at Franky.

“Why are you out and about by the way? Should’t you be back playing nursemaid to your injured deadweight?”

Franky taps his fingers on the steering wheel, a rhythm that Kevin can’t seem to place, though he knows that he has heard it belted out before during a long car ride.

“I believe you volunteered for nursemaid tonight, yes?” Franky says, smiling crookedly and indicating the sack in Kevin hands.

- _fair enough asshole_ -

“Besides,” Franky continues, grinning brightly in response to Kevin glower, “I have to go pick up dinner.”

Franky’s smile drops a bit and he looks at the road ahead of them like all he sees is hopelessness.

“Someone stole my sandwich.” Franky practically wails, sounding far more upset that such a predicament warrants.

Kevin nods his head knowingly like he **cares** -

(he doesn’t)

-or _sympathizes_ -

(he _doesn’t_ )

-and flashes Franky a smile that is all **teeth** , unable to stop the feeling of deep _satisfaction_ from welling up in his chest.

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t that great anyway. Maybe you ended up being spared a shitty sandwich.”

Franky sighed forlornly, “Pierre made that sandwich for me.” he said, like that explained _anything_.

- _don't act like it doesn't. don't **pretend**_ -

Kevin sniffs loudly, shoving down a **sharp ache**  in his chest and looking away from Franky‘s distress.

“Well, you better go get a replacement then. You should grab something for Pierre too, he’s gonna need protein after all that blood loss.” Kevin says, picking up his pace a bit, eager to be inside out of the still night air.

Franky shakes himself out of his dismayed state of mind, turning the smile back on.

“Of course. And how kind of you to think of dear Pierre!” Franky said, leaning over in his car, the smile getting a bit of **edge** to it as his eyes gazed steadily into Kevin’s, until Kevin breaks the staring contest, focusing back on the path in front of him and not on the **clear** and **deadly** warning in Franky’s eyes.

Kevin wants nothing to do with the promise of _vengeance_ should he overstep his **bounds** again.

(At least not at the moment.)

- _chicken shit_ -

( **Time** and a **place**.)

- ** _always_ **_the time_ -

(No)

Franky stares at him for another long moment as Kevin fights the **strong** **urge** to throw the bag down and have it out on the sidewalk. Finally, after what seems like forever, Franky nods, more to himself than to Kevin and waves merrily.

“Well, I best be off. You take good care of the boys now and try not to cause too much destruction!" Franky chips _brightly_ before speeding off, leaving Kevin to walk along in the icy darkness by himself.

* * *

Kevin tosses the bag at Dragon, who shoots him a puzzled look.

“Hey man, we though you left-”

“I didn’t” Kevin snaps, rolling his neck and stamping his feet to get the blood flowing in his stiff extremities again.

Dragon frowns, “Yeah, I can see that thanks asshole-”

“If you two don’t shut the fuck up you will die right here in this shitty locker room.”

Kevin glances over to the source of the raspy voice. Pierre was laid out on a bench, arms neatly folded against his chest and eyes closed. He looked for all the world like he was asleep, but he clearly wasn’t.

“Glad to see you finally cleaned all the damn blood off your face Pierre.” Kevin said snidely.

Pierre cracks one eye open and though it didn’t quite qualify as a _glare_ there was _definitely_ something **dangerous** in his stare. Kevin sighs and raises a hand in peace offering, unwilling to fight about anything else tonight.

(Mostly.)

Kevin moves over to his bag, pulling a rather lumpy spare t-shirt out of his hoodie pocket and stuffing it to the very bottom, resisting the urge to look around in paranoia as he does so. Dragon hands Pierre the beer and leans down, settling the little bag of ice across the back of Pierre’s neck as the other wrestler sits up and snaps the top off the beer.

Excalibur walks over, dropping Dragon’s bag next to him and plopping down on the floor, rooting around in his own bag. The room is silent but for the sounds of belongings getting shuffled around and Pierre rearranging the ice until-

“Okay, the _fuck_ is my mask.”

Ex looks up, eyebrow raised, “You lose it?”

Dragon glares at his partner.

“No, fuck you. It was on my face thirty minutes ago and when we got done I dumped it in here like always. Now it’s gone.”

“Oh for gods _sake_.” growled Ex, shoving his bag away and getting up, jerking Dragon up with him.

“ **Hey** , what-”

“Shut up.” Excalibur shoots Kevin a heated, irate glare, “Watch crippled-” he said, indicating Pierre. Whose only response is a middle finger, still nursing the beer and looking at the floor, his head bowed under the bag of ice. “-me and butter fingers here are gonna go see if those jackasses with the attitude in the parking lot think they're hot shit.”

Ex doesn’t wait for a response, just drags Dragon out of the room, the two of them squabbling the whole way.

Kevin realizes after a moment of silence that Pierre is watching him, thoughtfully. Kevin looks up with a roll of his eyes, listening to the crack of his neck and raising an eyebrow.

He waits, but Pierre doesn’t offer to say anything, just gazes steadily at Kevin, an inscrutable look on his face.

Kevin gets impatient first.

“You got something to say?” Kevin bites out, hands still in his bag, pushing as many pairs of filthy shorts and half empty shampoo bottles over the lumpy shirt at the bottom as he can before closing the zipper and then leaning back to regard Pierre.

Pierre watches him a moment more, then gets up, holding the ice to his neck and draining the bottle in his hands before tossing the empty in the nearby trash can.

Walking across the room, Pierre stands over Kevin for a heartbeat, the silence somewhere between tense and judgmental.

Finally, Pierre‘s mouth quirks up a bit at the corners and he reaches down, ruffling Kevin‘s hair before walking back to his bench and returning to his position when Kevin had walked in, laid out with his hands folded across his chest.

”What the fuck Pierre-” squawked Kevin, staring at the other wrestler like he‘d grown an extra head.

“Thanks for the ice kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't get how it is possible to badly and cryptically apologize while also punishing everyone around you for both your own misery and the fact that they like someone you also like. Possessive, crazyass little bby!ball of confusion.
> 
> Fucking hell Kevin <3
> 
> Also, this is COMPLETELY off topic but am I like, shipping all of them without meaning to or...? I feel like I've paired them all up and I'm... I dunno, _stealth shipping_ them or something really fucking bizarre like that.
> 
> *squints suspiciously*


End file.
